Pictures and Portraits of Foreign Travel

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E. Claxton, 1881 - 420 páginas
 

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Página 87 - I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord ! [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...
Página 166 - Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royal'st seed, That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried " Though gods they were, as men they died.
Página 162 - From his cradle He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer...
Página 381 - I saw the blue Rhine sweep along — I heard, or seemed to hear, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill...
Página 65 - No clouds, no vapours intervene, But the gay, the open scene Does the face of Nature show In all the hues of heaven's bow And, swelling to embrace the light, Spreads around beneath the sight. Old castles on the cliffs arise, Proudly towering in the skies; Rushing from the woods, the spires Seem from hence ascending fires; Half his beams Apollo sheds On the yellow mountain-heads, Gilds the fleeces of the flocks And glitters on the broken rocks.
Página 158 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Página 100 - Henry's holy shade; And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights the expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way.
Página 64 - The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to- the wild ocean.
Página 96 - This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth...
Página 30 - No sun — no moon ! No morn — no noon — No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — No sky — no earthly view — No distance looking blue — No road — no street — no " t'other side the way " — No end to any Row — No indications where the Crescents go — . No top to any steeple — No recognitions of familiar people — No courtesies for showing 'em — No knowing 'em! No travelling at all — no locomotion, No inkling of the way — no notion —

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